


A Boy, A Girl, and A Graveyard

by okieday17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cousin Incest, Cousins, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, I Will Go Down With This Ship, R plus L equals J, Rating May Change, starks everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3774814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okieday17/pseuds/okieday17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya had always been her father's favorite. She is the only one who can make him laugh, the only one to make him smile. When he dies, she feels as if she will never be whole again. How can she, when he was the only one who understood her? The only other one in their family who had the Stark looks? </p>
<p>That is...until the aunt she thought long dead shows up to the funeral with a son--a son who is unmistakably as Stark as Arya is. </p>
<p>(AKA An exploration of Jon and Arya's relationship in a more modern time)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Boy, A Girl, and A Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter/Fic title taken from Jeremy Messersmith's heartbreakingly beautiful song of the same name. 
> 
> Opening right after Ned's funeral, so you know--this chapter is not going to be a happy one.

Arya stared at the workers as they continued to shovel, continued to cover the newest addition to the graveyard, the freshly turned dirt building up quickly as the three men worked efficiently and with a levity that did not fit their jobs. Arya stayed silent and still, sitting on a branch of the closest tree to the newest grave, uncaring that her dress was now dirt streaked and wet as, of course, it had not stopped drizzling all day. Her hair felt matted to her face, but she could not bring herself to wipe it away, nor could she find the energy or need to dash the tears that were flowing freely from her eyes, rolling off of her already cold and wet skin. 

She watched as one of the three men who was doing his job stopped, using his hands to emphasize the story he was in the middle of telling, clearly finishing as all three broke out in good natured guffaws that reached her. A stab of anger, so hot and real, coursed through her, fisting her hands so tightly the skin showed white across her knuckles. Those bastards, I will gut every single one of them, how DARE they. 

Her fingernails, long from neglect and a general apathy towards fingernail care, bit into her flesh, but she barely felt it, physical pain too corporeal to fight through the haze in her brain that was emotional pain. Her eyes focused on the man who had been waving his hands to tell the story, glaring daggers into the back of the man as he continued to talk and laugh over her father. Her DEAD father. 

Did they have no respect for the dead? Had they no idea how special the man was they were burying?

Arya stared out at them, wondering what she could do as a sixteen year old to actually intimidate them, to make them realize how serious the matter of burying her father was. Her father was dead, and they were laughing over his corpse. How dare they! Repeated in her brain, over and over as Arya’s eyes followed their every movement. As the laughter died down, the men still smiling, Arya’s tears stopped as she observed them, her sadness momentarily replaced by searing anger. I need to make them rue the day they decided to make light of the most horrible day of my life. 

Arya considered whether or not she could in fact intimidate men who worked in a graveyard. Though she had just hit a growth spurt, it had left her wiry, stretching her usual compact muscular build. Nothing very intimidating about that. She doubted that three men who worked around the dead for a living would be scared of her, even if she did jump down on them from a tree where they had yet to observe her. Maybe she could convince Robb, or even his wastrel of a friend, Theon, to come and scare these men into doing their job with the proper severance in their attitudes. 

She considered the plan for half of a second before she forced herself to let out a slow breath, her hands relaxing as she watched the men finish and walk away. No, she would let these men go, they would not have to answer for their jollity with their lives. Not today at least. For one, some small part of her knew she was being irrational, but secondly, and much more importantly, she did not want to go face her family—let alone ask her oldest brother for a favor.

Her family. Her chest constricted as she thought about what was left of her family in the aftermath of her father’s untimely demise, that uneasy feeling of not being able to take a deep enough breath washing over her. The tears which had momentarily stopped, came back in full force as she just sat there, unseeing of anything but of the newly turned earth over her father’s now buried body. Everyone else had drifted away, but Arya had stayed by her father’s grave long after everyone else had left. It had been the appearance of the men who were to finish burying her father that had forced her to stay in the tree. She found she could not leave her father, not even to face the rest of her family. 

Was it her family anymore? Her father had always been her family, had been the one who had looked like her, the one who had been more serious like her. He had been the only one to make her laugh (and she him), the one who had listened to her stories, the one who soothed her anger after Sansa or Robb had teased her, who always took the time to talk to her. It was not long ago that she had given up coming to his study after dinner, crawling into his lap so they could spend time together. No one else had been allowed to interrupt their time together in the evenings, not any of her siblings, not even her mother. This was the time, she had made her father promise, that the true Stark’s of the family could be together—no one with the Tully coloring or disposition allowed (she still remembered her father’s face, often grim, fighting a smile as he solemnly linked his pinky with hers to promise). The ‘Stark’ evenings had started when Arya had been a babe who would only fall asleep in her father’s arms, even as he worked late into the night, and they had continued until late night homework and practices had kept her away from him. 

It was during these evenings that she would tell him about her day, or doze on his chest as he did his work. Or, on those rare occasions where her father was not too busy with work he would tell her stories about his family growing up. She had loved these stories best, especially as he would tell them to just her, not any of her other siblings, just her. She had fallen asleep many a time hearing about the mischief his brother’s and him would find, and on even rarer occasion, the sister that Arya had thought long dead. Even now as she thought about those moments, the familiar scent of him, so earthy and natural conjured before her, blurring her vision with tears. That was her family—her father. The man now buried and gone forever. They would never have another Stark evening together again. 

If she went home now, she would be reminded how different she really was from the rest of her family. She alone would be told to stop sulking so much, to try and put a smile on her face—but Arya never felt like she would smile again. Nor laugh, nor fence, nor watch basketball—those were all things she shared with her father. No one but him. No one else deserved those moments, no one but her father would have those moments with her. She fisted her hands at her sides, and beat them against the unyielding branch she sat on, resisting the urge to cry and shred at her flesh until there was nothing left but bone. Anything, anything to take away this unendurable pain. 

“So you must be Arya.” 

Arya prided herself on her ability to be sneaky and never be caught—never before had she been caught unaware as she was in that moment. She jumped unwittingly, her heart hammering in her chest, both with shock and anger. Anger that anyone would dare to disturb her when she was so clearly radiating the need to be alone. Still, she forced herself to blink rapidly, the deep voice conjuring her out of whatever funk she had been about to sink into, her hands lifting to her face to dash away tears from her eyes so she could regain her vision and face whoever dare to disturb her. 

Arya took a deep breath, not surprised to find her hands already in fists as she turned to find that her newly discovered cousin next to her. Not until he had shown up at the funeral four hours ago, along with the aunt Arya had thought (mistakenly it seemed) deceased, had Arya even had a clue that the Stark family was not quite as small as she always thought it was. Arya smirked bitterly, remembering the shock as her mother had leaned over Arya at the funeral to hiss to her sister, Lysa, “I cannot believe she showed up. And with him!”

Arya had been the closest one to her mother, and she had turned, finding her mother’s eyes staring at a woman and a young man that Arya had never seen before. Arya had squinted, trying to figure out who they were, and why they looked vaguely familiar, but she had grown distracted as the service had begun, her grief chasing away her curiosity. Arya had not had her answers to the questions she had about the strange pair, until it had come time to throw dirt on her father’s casket. It was a tradition that was supposed to be for family member’s only, and this woman and her son had come to the end of the line, behind Benjen, who had given them a tense nod before he determinedly stared at anyone but them. Arya’s natural curiosity had again been raised, and she had tugged at her mother’s sleeve, her interest overwhelming her grief momentarily as she said, “Who are they? Can they join the line? This is for family only!” 

Her mother had only given her that look, shushing her, before she had answered in hushed tones, “That is your father’s sister, Aunt Lyanna, and her son, Jon. They are family and they have a right to be in this line.” Her mother’s words said one thing, but her tone implied the exact opposite. Arya had had the sneaking feeling if it had been up to Catelyn Stark, the two would have not been allowed in line, let alone to the funeral they attended. But thoughts of her long-lost family members had been pushed from Arya’s head as the service had continued, and Arya had found herself caught up in her own thoughts and misery’s. 

Arya turned now to survey him, this cousin of hers, noting that he stayed a good distance away from her, his eyes staying on the same spot Arya had been staring at even as he had addressed her. Until he felt her eyes on him, that was. He turned his head to look at her, and Arya let out an audible gasp. Grey eyes—her father’s eyes. That thought squeezed all of the air out of her lungs, and she had to look away from those eyes. They were too...alive, too familiar. All they brought was pain. 

She took a deep breath before she turned to find him still curiously watching her, and Arya finally spoke—her voice a deep croak as she commanded, “What are you doing here?” 

Jon still studied her, taking his time to answer—another habit that oh-so-painfully reminded her of the man they had just buried. This time Arya did not turn from him, even as the pain stabbed through her, she forced herself to look at him, hoping he could read her desire for solitude in her withering look. She would be lying if she said she was not curious to know more about him, but this was not the time for answers. Arya found that she had not a care about this man’s life, even if he was related to her. He was not her father, despite his eyes, and Arya had no desire to be around anyone but her dad. 

She thought he was going to speak as he finally opened his mouth—but he closed it again, instead shaking his head, his dark hair coming over his long face, a stern look on it as he turned to the clubhouse where the reception for the funeral was being held. Arya was fleetingly mesmerized by it all—his coloring, his longer, steely face. Those were all traits she had. Traits she had inherited from her father. It seemed as if Jon had inherited them as well. 

Arya said nothing as her heart thumped in her chest, pain radiating through every ounce of her being as she wondered if he looked as her own father had in his youth. She forced herself to turn away from his visage, forced those thoughts from her mind. She could not even bring herself to look at her uncle’s during the service, their Stark looks too much of a reminder of what she had lost, and this familial stranger was making it even worse. 

So she turned from him, looking where he was, at the crowded clubhouse where people were spilling out, everyone dressed in dark colors, hundreds and hundreds of people having come to pay their respects to the great Eddard Stark. Originally, the wake was supposed to be held at the Stark house, but with the sheer number of people who had turned up that would have been impossible. Arya did not know even half of the people who had shown up, though it appeared many came from her father’s youth, families who knew of her and her family, though Arya did not have a care or a wit to remember who or why they were important. 

Jon finally turned back to her, those grey eyes flashing silver as she looked at him again, “I suppose for the same reason you are.”

It was all he said, and when Arya thought about making a rather rude comment about him not knowing or understanding her, she instead took a look at his profile as he turned back to stare at the fresh plot, his outline so familiar, she found she could not force the words out. They stayed, a lump in her throat as she again followed his eye line to where her father was buried. She had to press a hand to her heart, uselessly rubbing the spot as if that would alleviate some of the pressure there, clearing her throat to ease the lump that had stayed. 

Neither said anything for a long while, and Arya was grateful for his silence as her own thoughts consumed her again. This time it was Arya who broke the silence, repeating her question from earlier as less of a command, “What are you doing here?” She made sure to put emphasis on the last word so he would catch her meaning, but it was unnecessary as she saw understanding on his face as soon as she had repeated the question from earlier. 

Jon turned to face her, looking right past her, his lips twisting as he only said, “Uncle Ned was mom’s favorite.”

He said no more, his words as sparse as hers would have been, but Arya did not press. She could only focus on one word in his sentence. Was. He had said her father was her aunt’s favorite. Hearing about her father spoken about in past tense was too painful, too raw, and she found her curiosity melting away as waves of grief tore right through her. 

Her hands were once again tensed into fists, and she forced herself to take deep breaths, trying to control herself around this stranger, but found she could not. He stretched his hand out towards her, before he hesitated, dropping the hand before it could reach her, only saying, softly, “It’s okay. It’s better to let it out.”

Arya felt a small prick of gratefulness at that statement, though it was lost in the torrent of emotions that were running through her as she closed her eyes, wishing she could curl into herself without having to worry about falling from the tree. She felt herself take some unsteady breaths, and she moved quickly. Even in her grief she was not stupid, instead dropping from the branch rather than stay trembling on the tree. She did not need physical injury when her emotional one was so great. As soon as her feet touched the earth below her, softened by the constant drizzle, she collapsed, crumpling into a heap of wails and heaving sobs that wracked through her whole body. She felt as if she were adrift in a sea of sadness, with nothing to hold onto, nothing to tether herself too as her whole body shook with the effort of her tears. 

She did not hear him land next to her, but she felt him as he easily lifted her into his lap, holding her against him as if she were a mere child. He said nothing, instead running a soothing hand down her back, much like a mother might with a sick child, holding her firmly against him. If it were any other time, Arya might have pushed away from this strange man who she knew nothing about. But now, right now, she let herself be held by the stranger who had her father’s looks, her father’s coloring, and, most comforting of all, that same earthy scent she would forever associate with the man she had just lost.


	2. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, Arya you clearly need to speak to someone, and as it seems you can not bring yourself to talk to any of your family and friends, I think it would really help you to talk to a professional. I really think that will help with your…well, your recent issues."
> 
> Three months later, and all Arya can feel is rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Kanye West's "Monster"

“Arya, it has been three months. Three whole months. I’ve only ever asked you for this one thing—you can do this for me, can’t you?”

 

Arya’s arms were crossed, her whole figure tucked into the chair she was currently sitting in—the highly uncomfortable and regal high backed chair’s her mom liked to hold tea (and disciplinary lectures to her children) in. Arya’s shoes were on the chair, her knees drawn up as she slumped down into the seat cushion—which was hard as rocks. Her mother liked it that way of course—it meant that it was uncomfortable to slouch back and encouraged people who dared sit in the imposing chair to sit up straight. Everyone but Arya that was. She was willing to risk a sore backside if it meant she did not have to make direct eye contact with her mother, instead staring at the top of her head over her drawn up knees.

 

“Arya. Arya? Are you even listening?” The exasperation was apparent in her mother’s voice and Arya frowned as the tone grated down her already frayed nerves.

 

Arya let out a huff, a breath of air that blew her bangs out of her face, as she stared sightlessly past her mother as she spoke. She waited a few more ticks, sulking down further into the chair, finding some sort of peevish enjoyment in seeing Catelyn’s frown lines deepen as she waited for an answer. Arya waited until she was sure Cat was going to speak again before she finally grumbled out an answer—cutting her mother off before she could try and guilt her some more. “Fine. I’ll give up my fucking summer for you.”

 

Catelyn’s lips pursed, chiding her youngest daughter, “It’s not the whole summer. I’m only asking you to go to Dr. Indigo to talk to her just two days a week.” Cat placed her teacup down, steepling her fingers in front of her face as she took in Arya, praying for a sign, any sign that this was getting through her daughter’s tough exterior. But no, nothing. Her daughter, who usually vibrated with energy if she was not moving, sat across from her—completely still. When she spoke again, Cat forced herself to speak plainly with Arya—trying to get her to understand why Cat was asking for this from her. “Look, Arya you clearly need to speak to someone, and as it seems you can not bring yourself to talk to any of your family and friends, I think it would really help you to talk to a professional. I really think that will help with your…well, your recent issues. Dr. Indigo comes highly recommended.”

 

Arya folded further into herself, wishing she could be anywhere but here, anywhere but the person she was in her own skin. She would have curled inside of herself if that were possible. Arya wished she could, disappearing from this dimension with a soft _pop_. Arya swallowed instead, her mother’s words thrown at her though Cat had not raised her voice. ‘Issues’ was putting it lightly, and Arya knew her mother was only asking her to go speak to a therapist out of concern—but some part of her could not just give in. Call it that streak of Stark stubbornness, but Arya had to make it just a little more difficult for her mom. So she only blew her bangs out of her face, again, commenting, “That’s a stupid name.”

 

Her mother’s lips, already so thin, somehow thinned more, their usual red color disappearing with any patience or good humor Cat had had. Rather than respond though, Catelyn instead closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before she opened them again, looking Arya straight through as she softly said, “We all miss him, Arya.”

 

Instantly, at that cruel reminder, something in Arya snapped—something that happened a lot these days. Arya shot out of her chair, glaring down at her straight-backed mother as she shouted at her, “You don’t get it! You don’t get how much I miss him, and how much I lost when he left! No one gets it! My whole life has changed!”

Catelyn’s eyes remained steadfastly on where Arya had been sitting as Arya yelled at her, and Arya grew some sort of grim satisfaction from seeing the color drain from her mother’s face. Still, when Cat’s eyes slowly drew up to Arya’s face, Arya recognized the icy blue chips that greeted her.

 

Her mother was pissed.

 

To her credit, Cat’s voice was just as soft as it was before Arya had yelled at her, two words all that had to pass through her lips, “Sit down.”

 

Arya could have run away, to her room, or to the outside world, or anywhere but this wretchedly uncomfortable chair—but the fight left her just as suddenly as it had entered her, and she fell back to her chair, guilt washing through her as she saw the tremble in Cat’s hands before she clasped them in her lap. Arya pulled her knees back up, mumbling into them a very hasty, “Sorry.”

 

Catelyn knew her daughter was in a very precarious emotional state, but she was done. She was done with the attitude and the anger, and for the first time since her husbands passing Cat did not let the apology stop her from speaking her mind to Arya. She commanded, “Sit up straight.” Arya, Cat was glad to see, responded just as quickly to that _tone_ in Cat’s voice as she always had, her knees finally dropping from the chair, sitting up so quickly it looked as if someone had poked her with a cattle prod.

 

Cat was not done though, grabbing her daughter’s chin and pulling her forward to speak to her, eye to eye. Cat could not control the way her grasp tightened, nor could she control the way her tone came out—harsh and unyielding. “We all lost him Arya, not just you. All of our lives have had to change, not just yours, Arya. We are all sad. Not just you. It is unfair of you to walk around acting if you are the only one who this has affected. I did not raise my daughter to be this self-centered, even if you are a teenage girl. I raised you better than this. HE raised you better than this—and you owe his memory so much more than the way you have been acting. Do you really think he would accept any excuse for how you have been moping around? For your dropping grades? For the fights you get into?”

 

Arya knew the truth behind these words, knew how much the family had had to change since her father’s untimely death. Robb had to put off getting his MBA to take up his father’s reigns at the head of the company, moving back into his childhood home to help around the house. Sansa had changed from going to an Ivy League school that was thousand’s of miles away to the college one town over so she could help her mom with the younger boys. Catelyn had lost the man she had been married to for over twenty-five years and suddenly found herself the single mother of five children, three of them teenagers. Bran had lost all of his luster and spent more time online then in the real world, and Rickon had picked up the habit of not speaking. At all. He either texted or wrote things down, but Arya had not heard words pass his lips in…well, three months.

 

Tears were commonplace in the house, though Arya had not cried since the day of her father’s funeral. Maybe that was why Cat was so concerned—Arya was not crying, or even sad. Instead she was just angry—a constant fury that fueled her every move, an anger that no one else in her family seemed to feel. None of them raged like her. None of them picked fights like her, none of them wanted to hit everything and anyone around them like her. Or if they did, none of them were as emotionally unstable as she was to let all of the emotions bubble to the surface. It was as if the grief was spread across the family and all of the irritation had been heaped upon her. Arya had read that anger was one of the stages of grief, but it seemed she could not move past it, even three months later.

 

Arya wondered for a brief moment what her father would have thought of his daughter now. She did not let herself wonder for long, instead pulling out of her mother’s grasp, standing to leave the room. She waited until she was at the doorway before she turned her head over her shoulder to let her know, “Fine. I’ll go.”

 

* * *

Arya was not allowed to drive herself to the session, on account of the two car accidents she had gotten herself into since her father had passed. Recklessness went well with her anger, and it seemed as if speeding and blowing through stop signs did as well. After the second accident, Cat had taken her license, her only words, “You will get it back when you’re done with this…phase you’re in.”

 

Arya had meant to ride her bike to the session, but Cat had not allowed it, instead insisting that Robb drive her. Arya had chafed at the untrusting gleam in her mother’s face, but had said nothing. Arya guessed if someone had to drive her, out of the three Starks who still had licenses, Robb was the best to get stuck with. He would not push her to speak like her mother would, or just criticize her for how difficult she was being like Sansa would.

 

Though today, as he hummed to the songs of the radio station, drumming his fingers along too, Arya reconsidered whether or not he was the best Stark to drive her. Robb could not carry a beat if it was handed to him in a basket—which annoyed Arya today more than Sansa’s nagging ever did. Arya considered grabbing his hands as he drove, showing him to actually go with the beat of the song so the pounding headache she got as he continually drummed off beat would go away…but no. She just stayed sulked into the bucket seat of the passenger side of the minivan, staring at nothing out the window. Thankfully, the drive there was short, and as he had stopped the car, Robb said his only words to her, “I’ll be back in about an hour. Text me if you finish early.”

 

Arya had gotten out as he spoke, nodding her understanding from the sidewalk, staring at him, willing him to go. But Robb had stubbornly stayed put—crossing his arms behind the steering wheel, watching her, his message clear. He would not budge until she went into the house. Arya only sighed, turning and going into the inauspicious looking purple house with the white door that he had dropped her in front of. The white door tinged an electronic bell as she opened it, and she instantly reacted, her face in a snarl as she entered to the unholy sound.

 

Not a good start to what was supposed to be a soothing experience, Arya realized. But then again, as she observed the room, she realized nothing here was going to do anything to soothe her. It was all too obvious, too out of a playbook titled, _How to Subconsciously Alter the Minds of the Angry and Sad_. Bright, happy colors on the walls, soft, soothing orchestral pieces and inauspicious oil paintings with blotches of color that were probably specifically bought to inspire happiness in those who looked at it, did nothing to improve her mood. In fact, it just fueled her ire.

 

Arya forced herself to stop focusing on a blue blotch on a painting across from her as she stepped further into the place, looking at the receptionist behind the desk. The bored looking woman was on the phone, but she motioned to the clipboard in front of her before turning around to continue speaking in hushed tones. Arya took a further step into the room before hesitating, looking at the other people in here with her. They were all too…Arya felt anxiety begin to creep into her as she felt their unhappiness seep from their very pores, their sadness in stark contrast to the environment they were in.

 

Arya did not even bother to look outside to see if Robb was gone before she opened that same door she had just entered, walking away from the happy colored house, with all of it’s happy colored wall paper, happy art and extremely depressed people—her stress dissipating with each step she took away from that horrible, awful place. Whoever thought that putting all of the sad people in the world together in the same place was a fucking idiot, and Arya was not going to subject herself to that much misery.

 

Instead she walked hard and fast, using the physical activity and pounding beat of her feet on pavement to escape her own thoughts as she walked away. She did not want to think, to feel—she just wanted to be. She hated how much time she spent in her own head some days, wishing she could escape. So she went to the same place she went to whenever she felt this panic that filled her very lungs, making it difficult to breathe—the library.

 

            She headed there, not because she would use the books to escape her world—no that was not who Arya was. She had never been able to lose herself in stories as others had, but rather she went because she knew her family would never look for her there.

 

They thought she despised reading, and though she was no great lover of literature, she was a lover of their basement archives where she could spend hours just hidden away from the world as she sat in the ancient stacks. No one came into the archives much, and when people did, they were usually too busy looking for a special book, or studying to notice a teenage girl folded in the corner between shelves and shelves of books. She drew immense comfort from the calm and quiet of the empty place, the only place she could really find solitude and clear her mind.   

 

Today though, as she raced down the steps to the archives, she noticed a backpack on one of the tables. She frowned, looking for it’s owner, but they must have been in the shelves. By the way the backpacks contents were spilled onto the table, next to a large stack of books Arya deduced that seemed someone was down here researching. Strange, she had never really seen anyone else set up shop down here before. She sighed, and continued down at a slower pace, realizing it made no matter to her if someone else was down here as long as the other person left her alone.

 

As she made it to the bottom of the stairs, though, the backpack’s owner rounded the shelves only a few feet from her, frowning at the back of a book, ignoring her. Arya froze as she saw who it was down here, the man only giving her a brief look as he nodded at her. It was almost comical the way the man took another step before his brain caught up to what his eyes had seen, his whole body freezing as his head moved over his shoulder to look back up at her, silver eyes clashing with silver.

 

Her name was a breath on his lips, “Arya.”

 

She wanted to punch him right then and there, she wanted to scream at him to get out of her space and to go back to wherever the hell had come from, she wanted to scratch at his face so it no longer reminded her of her father. Instead Arya only gave a perfunctory nod to her cousin as he turned to face her properly, “Jon.”

 

She awkwardly shifted from foot to foot as she tried to stop the anger from rolling through her at seeing him again. Anger and embarrassment—not a good combination for her at the moment. She had not seen Jon since he had held her by her father’s grave as tears had torn through her whole being, and to be honest she had thought (and prayed) that she would never see him again. Gods, she could not believe how much she had let ago around a man who was a stranger! To have him hold her like that, just because he bore some passing resemblances to the man she had lost. He probably thought she was daft, or at the very least, an emotional wreck. Arya was neither of course, and it stung that some stranger would think that she was both.

 

She would have moved past him, but he blocked her way, his eyes darting all around her face as he considered his words, tasting them before he spoke next, “Are you all right?”

 

Arya blinked at the question before her eyes narrowed, unable to stop the sarcasm from creeping into her voice, “Why? Do I not look okay? Worried that I’m going to burst into tears and need to be held like a baby again?”

 

He shook his head, about to speak, but Arya was on a roll at this point, her hands moving to enunciate each word—saying everything to him she wished she could say to every other fucking person who asked her that same stupid question over the past three months. “I’m fucking fantastic. Thanks for asking. Have never been fucking better in my life. I’m fucking blessed.” She moved down the stairs, deciding she was just going to push past him, but found herself stopped again—the girl who could not talk to anyone unable to stop herself from saying everything she thought around this stranger, “Look, I know the last time we saw each other I was crying like a baby, but I am not a weak, fragile little glass figurine that needs you, or anyone, to take care of me, okay? I can handle myself, and I’m not the type of person who needs others to take care of me. Am I okay? Not really, but guess what? That’s my shit to deal with, not yours. I mean I just lost my fucking father, my best friend. I think I’m allowed to have some moments of weakness—but that does not make me weak.”

 

He watched her, his eyebrows rising the whole time she spoke, before they dropped, his lips pulling with a sardonic twist, “I was not asking if you were okay because I think you’re weak.”

 

That stopped her, and she blinked at him in confusion, “You weren’t?”

 

He shook his head, pausing before he continued, “I was asking because you were just stomping down the stairs so loudly you would have woken the dead, and you look very much as if you would like to murder someone.”

 

Arya opened her mouth, before closing it, deflating slightly at his response, “Oh.”

 

He took a cautious step towards her, and Arya’s hands twisted in the fabric of her bag, though she forced herself to stand still. Even though she was on the steps, he was taller than her by a good half foot, and she had to crane her neck to look at him as he approached her. As she looked at him this close up, she was again struck by the familiarity in the curves and lines of his face—it was the same face she saw every day in the mirror, but in male form. She was awestruck for a moment, that spot that had hurt the last time she had seen him giving off warmth, as she reached her hand up to absentmindedly rub it.

 

She had always thought she was the only Stark of her generation to have the Stark coloring—it was somewhat disconcerting to realize she was no longer the only one who would carry on the Stark’s looks. Disconcerting but not necessarily bad. She stopped rubbing as she saw him frowning as he watched her hand, his eyes coming back to her face as her movements ceased. He heaved a sigh as he shifted the book he had been holding between his hands, Arya wondering if he was like her in that he could never stand still. Something about that, as well as realizing he was not trying to treat her with kid gloves made her feel a tiny bit bad about taking her wrath out on him. It was really not his fault.

 

“Look, I’m sorry I said those things. I just…I don’t think….” Dammit, it was times like this she wished she were more articulate like her older brother and sister. Arya stopped, taking a deep breath before trying, again, “You don’t owe me anything, you know?” She had her hands out, palms up in a supplicating gesture, “I know that you’re only asking about me to be nice, just like everyone is always asking just to be nice—but I’m…I don’t need it.”

 

Jon’s eyebrow rose, though the rest of his face remained studiously blank, “Need what?”

 

Arya waved her hand at him, at the world in general, “You’re asking because you think you have to be nice to me, because you’re technically family but…I didn’t know you before, so you don’t have to be like this with me, you know? You can go back to your studying, and we can pretend we didn’t see each other, and that’s that. You know?”

 

Jon’s eyebrow dropped, and he quirked his head, his arms crossing in front of his trim figure, “Is that what you want?”

 

Solitude? Without even thinking Arya knew her answer, “Yes.”

 

He waited a beat, before he gave her a nod, “Okay.” He said nothing else then, instead moving past her and back to his seat, opening the book he had brought to the table, acting as if he had never seen her. She watched him, following his movements until she was satisfied that he would respect her wishes and leave her alone.

 

She moved then too, back to the back corner of the library basement, putting as much distance between them as possible. She thought she might have felt his eyes on her as she walked away, but she did not turn around to check. Arya instead focused on the spot she always came to down here, plopping down in it with contented sigh, forcing herself to sit still. Often when she was here, she could sit in complete stillness and quiet as she just let herself breathe, ignoring the outside world.  

 

Today though, almost immediately after she had sat down, she began to drum her fingers on her knee, her eyes popping open as she realized the oddity of her cousin being here. Oddity in that she was not aware of him living in town, or in fact, where he lived at all. She strained through her memory, trying to figure out if her mother had ever said anything about him or his mother moving back—but no, nothing. She had not heard the name Jon Stark since the day of the funeral. So what then, was he doing here? At this library? What was he studying and why? Arya guessed him to be about Robb’s age, so maybe he was in college or grad school of some sort—but still. That answered none of her questions about him. She hesitated a moment, knowing that she could easily find out by asking him—he seemed reserved like she was, but he would at least tell her what brought him to this library.

 

It was not just his reserved nature that stopped her, but also how contradictory she would seem by going over to him and talking to him when she had asked for seclusion. She would be proving to him that she was crazy. She had asked for solitude, and he had given it to her without a thought or without a comment. What was she proving to him if she went back to the table he was at, sat across from him, and asked him all of the questions she found bouncing around in her brain?

 

She decided not to ask him anything at the same moment she found herself propelled from her seat, walking and moving back towards where he had been. She would just ask him one question, and then she would go back to her spot, simple as that she decided. She was not looking for conversation, just some answers to some questions she suddenly found she desperately needed to know.

 

As she approached where had been sitting, though, she stopped as she realized that the backpack, the stack of books, and her cousin were all gone. He had respected her wishes for solitude so much that he had left her completely alone down here.  

 

Arya only frowned, starring at the spot he had been sitting in as she rubbed that damned spot on her chest again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure I like the ending, but every time I tried to write more interaction between Jon and Arya, it just felt unnatural at this point and time in their relationship. Thank you for everyone who commented or left kudos last time, you really made me want to keep writing. Glad to see I'm not the only one who wants more works about these two, and I promise to try my best to keep them true to the characters.


	3. Shake the Sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya finally gets to meet the Aunt she never knew she had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the eponymous song by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists

It was a few weeks after Arya stopped going to the library, but a few weeks before she would give up the charade of going to ‘therapy,’ that she finally got some answers to the questions she had not gotten to ask Jon that last day she had seen him. She could have asked her mother, of course, but she found herself many a time at family dinners opening her mouth to speak, then shutting it as quickly as she had opened it—doing her best impression of Rickon, who had still not spoken.

She could have waited to speak to her mother by herself of course, but Arya was avoiding that as studiously as she was avoiding Dr. Indigo. She was afraid if she talked to her mother about it, Cat would want to talk about ‘why’ Arya wanted to know about a cousin. How could Arya explain the strange fascination she felt with her mirror? How did she explain the odd kinship she felt with the cousin she had never known existed versus the isolation she felt in a sea of redheads at family dinners?

She could not verbalize it, hell she could barely understand it herself—she just knew that finding out about her cousin had become somewhat important to her. Maybe it just felt like—Arya really did not know—but maybe with his familiar calm presence, she could find a peace she had not found since her father had passed. Arya hated that thought, hated of feeling the need to be dependent on others for her own inner peace—but around him, it just seemed like he understood her. He was the first person since her father who had just taken her words at face value and had not searched for deeper meaning. When she told others she wanted to be alone they always asked why. With Jon—well, he had just simply left her alone.

Since that day, since that one small gesture of him actually respecting her wish to be alone, Arya had felt a shift. The anger was still there, simmering below her surface, and though it spiked up from time to time, it did not consume her every thought and action as it did before. Instead she found herself growing more sullen, asking herself more questions about how she could have prevented what had happened to her father. Bargaining, Sansa the psych major (insert eye roll) had informed her. Arya had only responded by giving her sister the finger and leaving before Sansa could diagnose that.

Arya smiled at that thought, as she hid from Dr. Indigo and her mother, waiting out Robb at a 24-hour diner that she had never been to without her friends, and never before midnight. She had avoided the place since her father’s passing for fear of running into the friends who she had not spoken to in months, but found it unnecessary. Many of her friends vacationed with their families in exotic or beachfront locales during summer, and those who were not on vacation worked long hours that did not leave much time for socializing. Most of her friends had yet to realize she was still avoiding them. They probably just assumed after summer she would be back to normal.

Arya wondered what she would feel like in two months time. Normal was not something she aspired for, but maybe by then she could be around people without wanting to stuff her fingers into her ears to drown out their incessant noise. She felt as if that was a much more tangible goal. Plus, maybe by then she would finally feel as if she were not an emotional powder keg. 

A waitress approached her as she twirled the menu between her fingers, Arya not bothering to lift her eyes from the spinning menu to give her order, “Tea please.” Arya stopped spinning the menu, holding it up to the waitress, hoping she would read the situation and understand that Arya did not want to engage in chit chat—but found that the waitress was not moving. Arya’s was struck with annoyance at having to make eye contact, and she heaved a theatrical sigh at having to face another human being when she clearly wanted to be alone. 

As Arya turned though, she found herself freezing as she realized who it was staring at her, even though she had only ever seen the woman one other time. Jon’s mother, Lyanna. As their grey eyes met, Arya found her annoyance melting as she came face to face with the biggest mystery in her family. “Lyanna?”

Lyanna, at hearing Arya’s voice, seemed to wake herself out of whatever stupor she had fallen into, shaking herself as she finally moved. “Yes. Hi—you’re my niece, right? Arya?”

Arya nodded, trying to think of anything to say. What did one say in a situation like this. Manners seemed to prevail, as the only words Arya could dredge up were, “Nice to meet you.”

Arya stuck her hand out for a handshake at the same moment Lyanna leaned in for a hug, Arya’s hand awkwardly hitting her aunt in the stomach as she leaned down, Lyanna letting out a soft ‘oomph.’

Arya cringed, feeling her face grow hot in embarrassment, pulling her hand back and hiding it under the table. Arya felt a fool for having just hit the woman, “I’m sorry. That was lame, I’m so lame.”

Lyanna was smiling at her, waving her hand as if to say it was no big deal, but Arya just frowned as she pulled her hand out from under the table, staring at it as if it were some type of alien that had somehow attached to her body, “I don’t usually go for handshakes. That was weird. I guess it’s just….”

“...The whole situation is weird?” Lyanna finished for her, and Arya gave a weak nod as she saw the amused smirk on her aunt’s face. 

“Don’t worry. I get it. I was being weird too, just staring at you, but. Well it is weird. I’ve never met you before, really, and it’s just—it’s kind of amazing… I feel as if I know every line of your face and we’ve only just met. You’re so unlike the rest of your family.”

Arya’s eyebrow rose at that, and Lyanna clarified, “You’re so Stark.”

Arya did not know how one was supposed to respond to that, a statement she had always known to be true, so she just silently nodded, taking the older woman in. Her father had said on occasion that Arya looked (and acted) a lot like Lyanna, but beyond the pale skin, dark hair and grey eyes—Arya could not see it. Lyanna, even dressed in a waitress getup, was stunning. Pretty would not have been the right word for it, as she was not what one would call classically beautiful, as there was something altogether too wild about her—but she was captivating. Arya found that she could not turn away from the woman, or stop herself from studying every nuance of her Aunt’s face. Arya, who was never one to give herself up to vanities, felt as if she had a quarter of what the older woman obviously had—well, she would never have been called Arya Horseface that was for sure.

Lyanna was smiling at Arya, chuckling as she shook her head, “I never thought...wow.”

Arya’s curiosity got the better of her, “What?”

Lyanna shook her head, twisting the notepad in her hands as she spoke, “Ned was not lying when he said you looked like me, was he? I have some pictures from when I was your age that you would swear are of you.”

Arya’s head snapped up, staring at the woman as if she were reading her mind, before her eyes narrowed on a piece of information. “You spoke to my father before he died? He never…he never mentioned it to me.”

Lyanna’s own lips twitched, before she frowned, looking around. She turned back to Arya then, her voice lower as she said, “That sounds like Ned. He was trying to protect you. Or me—well, knowing Ned, both of us. And to be fair, we had not spoken for about twenty years until I finally called him two years ago.” Lyanna tapped her fingers against her hip for a second before she stilled, seeming to make a decision as she called over her shoulder, “Pete, I’m on my fifteen!”

There was a reply from behind the bar, and before Arya could say anything, Lyanna had slid into the booth across from her. “It’s just amazing, the likeness. I feel like I’m looking in a mirror that de-ages you twenty years.” Lyanna started to tap her fingers on the table, before she pulled back, smiling, “It’s not just the looks either, is it?” Arya tried to interject, but her Aunt was on a roll, “I mean, your dad told me a little about you—he found it amusing that you picked all of the same sports as I did at your age. Told me you were on the basketball team, knew how to ride a horse better than any of your other siblings and liked to fence—I figured that you took up all of those for the same reason I did.”

Lyanna smiled at her, waiting for a prompt, and Arya, enraptured by this woman, and trying to play keep up finally got the chance to speak—but found she did not want to interrupt this lively woman’s flow. Who knew where she was going to go next? So Arya kept her questions to herself and played along. “Oh?”

Lyanna relaxed for a second, stopping her tapping to lean closer in, as if to divulge a secret. “Because those were what Ned loved. I joined those sports so we could always be as close, ya know?” Arya did know, she knew exactly what Lyanna meant. It was odd, this woman who she had never spoken to before seemed to understand things her own mother did not. Cat had often tried to talk her out of playing such ‘manly’ sports, but Arya would never give up on something that gave her such a strong link to her father. That thought hit her low, the air squeezing from her lungs as Arya realized she had been doing exactly that by turning her back on the world for the past four months.

Lyanna was observing her, her eyes softening when she spoke next, “Ned always had the amazing gift of inspiring loyalty in those he bestowed his friendship on. No one ever wanted to disappoint Ned. Hell, I never wanted to disappoint your father. Even though we were five years apart—well your dad was always my favorite.”

Arya felt a hit of déjà vu as she remembered Jon’s words on the first day she had met him, and she admitted to her Aunt, “Jon told me that when I met him.” At the raise of Lyanna’s eyebrow, she waved her hand, elaborating, “At the funeral.” She saw no reason to bring up the meeting at the library, so she did not. By the way Lyanna paused before speaking, Arya wondered if she already knew.

“Jon is a lot like your dad was when he was younger.” Lyanna was smiling again as she got lost in recollections of the past—whether of Arya’s father, or her son was hard to say. “He’s always waiting, watching, observing everything around him. Smarter than most people, but he won’t speak unless he’s a hundred percent sure what he is saying is right.” Lyanna let out a long suffering sigh, as she admitted, “Jon’s too solemn at times, though, just like your dad used to be.” Lyanna laughed then, shaking her head as she continued, “That was one of the very first things I told your father when we started speaking again. That I had a son who was a miniature of him. That was when he admitted he had a daughter just like me. He told me that you inherited what our father had called my ‘wolf-blood.’ Told me you were always talking back to your elders, had a hot temper, and were as headstrong as you were willful.”

Arya let a small smile grace her face as she admitted, “My dad used to call me ‘little wolf.’ Especially when I was in trouble with my mom or at school.”

Lyanna shook her head, chuckling, “I told him life’s not fair like that sometimes, that I should get the easier child—but your dad told me he would not trade you for anyone or anything. Told me it was like having me back sometimes.” Lyanna’s eyes grew misty, her voice softer as she admitted, “I did not talk to him for years, letting my stupid pride get in the way of reaching out to him after dad kicked me out for getting pregnant as a teenager. When I finally called him, he begged me to come home to meet his family, but I always put it off, telling myself I was not ready to come back just yet.” She shrugged, admitting, “I always figured there would be more time. How was I supposed to know?”

Arya watched as the woman’s grew introspective, her face dropping as she got lost in her own thoughts. Without too much deliberation, Arya reached out a hand to where her Aunt’s now lay still, grabbing one and squeezing it. Lyanna’s eyes snapped back to her own, and Arya was honest as she told her, “My father would have understood. He still had a picture of you and him as children on his desk.”

Lyanna laughed at that, a sound of pure delight, “Did he? What picture?” She paused then, rolling her eyes, “Wait, I think I already know. The picture where I’m covered in mud and crying as he’s holding me out in front of him?” Arya nodded, and Lyanna groaned, “I hated that picture, I’m such a mess in it! Your father always loved it though—said it was the most honest picture of me there was.” She let out a small chuckle, shaking her head as she finally slid out of the booth, “I have to get back but…I’m off soon and was wondering if you wanted to meet up after my shift so we could keep talking?”

Arya stood with Lyanna, realizing that she was actually taller than her aunt despite her larger than life personality. Arya was earnest as she considered the offer before she shook her head, “I wish I could but I’m actually supposed to be getting picked up somewhere else, very soon.” Lyanna nodded, her face falling slightly, and Arya could not help but to add, “I really would like to another time, though?”

Lyanna nodded, pulling out the pad of paper she took orders on and scribbling on it, before she pressed a piece of paper into Arya’s hand, “Here’s my cell number. Call me so we can set something up? Next week maybe?”

“Of course.” Arya smiled at her aunt, before letting herself be pulled into a hug with the near stranger. There was no awkwardness this time as they hugged, Arya feeling slightly dazed but buoyant after meeting her Aunt. When Lyanna let her go, Arya only said goodbye, before she turned to go. 

As she made her way down the steps that led to the street, she heard her name being called. She paused, turning to the side to see Jon coming from the parking lot. He stopped when she looked at him, surprise on his face. It took her a second to realize why he was surprised but she almost laughed when she did—she was still smiling. He had never seen her smiling before. Gods he must think her beyond odd. She approached him, admitting, “I just met your mother.”

Jon’s confusion melted away at that, a small smile lighting his lips. Arya was taken aback by his own smile—it transformed his whole face. He looked years younger, and Arya sincerely hoped he ended up with someone who could make him smile as much as possible. “Ah, the very woman I’ve come to pick up. She’s something, isn’t she?”

Arya nodded, stopping about a foot away from him, shifting from foot to foot before she spoke again, “Listen, Jon. I just wanted to say…well, two things really. First off, I wanted to apologize for snapping at you in the library.”

Jon’s smile was still in place, though there was a gleam in his eye when he spoke, “You already apologized to me, and truly—it is unnecessary.” Before Arya could say anything to the contrary, he cut her off, “What is the second thing?”

“Oh, that.” Arya felt herself growing shy as she stared at her feet, before looking back up, looking him in the eye so he would know she was being sincere, “Thank you.”

Confusion was back on his face, “For what?”

“When I told you I wanted to be alone, you listened.” She almost elaborated, but she had the feeling he would understand.

He did, she saw it in his face as the confusion was replaced with that serious look of his as softly said, “Of course.”

Arya watched him for a moment, as if waiting for something more, before she sighed, turning to go, “I have to go.”

He nodded, and she turned completely away from him—though she stopped when he called her name, turning back to him. She looked at him, expectant, “Yes?”

That smile was back on his face as he only said, “I hope I get to see you soon.”

Arya felt her breath hitch for a moment, her answer out before she had time to think about it, “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this posted sooner, but I have a real problem of knowing when to stop typing and just post. Editing is all by me, so forgive any glaring errors. Also, I originally was going to have this meeting end with Arya saying goodbye to Lyanna, but it just felt incomplete. So of course a short little interaction between Jon and Arya was just what it needed. AMIRITE?!


	4. Mama Who Bore Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small gesture can make a big difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the musical "Spring Awakenings" song of the same name.

Arya sat, detached, away from everyone at the so-called party, ensconced in ennui as she watched the revelers at the annual Stark family Fourth of July barbeque. The house and backyard were packed, as this was a big event, family and friends alike milling about—as well as some family friends who Arya strongly suspected were only invited out of tradition rather than actual friendship (the Lannister’s? Really? Just because one of them happened to be married to her dad’s best friend from college?), most of them wearing red, white and blue in honor of every American’s favorite summer holiday. Arya, of course, was not wearing any of those colors. Not on purpose, though—she honestly did not own anything red or white. Maybe blue, but it was not the deep patriotic blue expected on this most revered of holidays. 

Most revered of holidays? Arya had to stop herself from snorting. Yeah right, more like everyone’s favorite excuse to get drunk and light things on fire. 

Arya frowned, flopping back onto the lounger she had commandeered underneath the gazebo, glad that so far, no one had traveled to the far side of the backyard to try and socialize with her. Arya might have been forced to come to this stupid event, but that did not mean she could be forced to participate. In truth, Arya was not fit for human company—moreso than usual, she meant. Today, when she had woken up Arya had been struck with the thought of how this was her first real holiday without her father, and all day she had been unable to shake the feeling of melancholy that had threatened to swallow her whole. She thought she was finally starting to stabilize a bit, started to feel as if her emotions might be able to balance—when she sees the date on her cell phone and BAM, she feels like she has bit punched in the gut. 

The fourth of July was a big one for her family—always had been, always would be. Her dad always hosted it for their family and friends, always held court as he commandeered the barbeque, always had the fireworks display most likely to get the cops attention, and, the day after the festivities were over, always had everybody talking about how awesome the fourth of July was, thanks to Ned. 

Not this year, though. 

Arya sat back up, staring at the barbeque area, where her uncle Brandon was trying his best at playing chef. It was not the same though. So far the best Brandon had been able to produce at the Stark barbeque were slightly edible (aka burned to a crisp) hot dogs and hamburgers. Arya watched as her uncles Brandon, Benjen, and Edmure all stood around the large barbeque, staring at it and pointing to different spots to try and produce the least burned food. Arya rolled her eyes as the three men stood around, waiting for someone more capable to take over, before her eyes flicked through the rest of those she could see seeking out the rest of her family. 

Her mother and Lysa were walking out of the kitchen with platters of vegetables (really? On a holiday?), while Robb and Theon were drinking, heavily, hitting on a couple of the girls their age. Sansa and Jeyne were smiling a bit too much into their red solo cups (vodka? No, too strong for those two. Rum?) as they giggled at every boy who walked past them, and Bran had a couple of his gamer friends over, Meera and Jojen, though the trio all had out handheld gamers and were not talking to anyone, let alone each other. s. At least they were “socializing,” in a sense. Hell, Arya realized, even Rickon was in the pool splashing around with some of the other kids his age.

That just left her. She was the only one of her family not taking some part in the social scene, as she had refused her mother’s offer to invite her friends over. In fact, just six hours ago, Arya had begged and pleaded with her mother to let her skip this. Her mother had almost relented, Arya could tell—but then she had told Arya to come up with one good reason other than ‘because I don’t want to,’ and Arya had had none. Well, besides the truth, and hell if she was going to share that. 

The truth of the matter was that during the fourth of July, Arya had always been her father’s helper. She had been the one who ran between the kitchen and the barbeque to fetch him more animal products to grill, she had been the one who always helped him hide the fireworks from her mother year-round, and she had always been the one who would help him set them up, delighted when he would let her light them with a sparkler. Today she would have loved nothing more than to go somewhere, anywhere else but here where the memories were too much. Sure, she was no longer as angry as she was, but her relenting anger seemed to be making way for sadness again. Sadness that Arya did not want as it threatened to overwhelm her. So she had asked her mother if she could go somewhere else and skip the party entirely. 

Her timing had not been the best, of course—she should probably have waited to tell her mother she refused to go to therapy anymore at least, oh, more than a minute after she had asked if she could skip today. Or at the very least, she should not have admitted how much of it she had been skipping, if she wanted something from Catelyn. 

Catelyn had been pissed beyond belief when she discovered that Arya had been lying about attending therapy, her face turning as red as her hair as she screamed at her, about responsibility, and wasting money, and Robb’s time, and blah blah blah. Arya had realized as soon as it had popped out that she did not need to tell her mother how she had been lying about going to therapy, but it was too late at that point, so Arya had sullenly done as she was told, attending the party and sulking in the corner as everyone acted as if this was just another normal Fourth of July. 

With that thought, Arya flopped back down onto the settee, wishing she were tired enough to just fall asleep until this day was over. 

As she lay there, Arya’s phone buzzed in her pocket, Arya twisting to get it out of her back pocket. She pressed the power button, turning the screen on, her spirits lifting slightly as she saw it was a text from her new favorite Aunt. It had been a couple of weeks since she had met Lyanna, and Arya had yet to go over for the promised dinner, but they had been texting sporadically. The more she knew about her Aunt, the more she realized how truly alike they were. It was nice to have a family member who understood what she was trying to say without Arya having to explain herself—she had not had that since her father had passed. 

What are you up to today? Fun with friends?

Arya tapped back, holding the phone over her face, Family event. She paused for a second after sending that before adding Want to come over? Bring Jon and save me?

The answer was instantaneous. No. 

There was a pause, then Lyanna wrote Sorry that came out wrong. But just hell no. I mean I’m at work so there’s that. But without Ned there to lighten my spirits, I would probably end up getting into a fight with Brandon.

Arya shook her head, feeling a smile creep up her face, before she wrote back No worries. I get it. Have a good shift. 

A second, and then another buzz You too dear. Don’t murder anyone. 

Arya actually chuckled at that before she put her phone back in her back pocket, sitting up. 

She almost laid back down as she saw her mother walking over to her (that look on her face) but Arya forced herself to remain sitting, her face impassive. 

She watched as Cat approached, stopping at the edge of the gazebo, pausing as she took Arya in before she opened her mouth to speak. Arya waited for her mother to start, to talk to her about how important it was that she socialize, and put a smile on her face for goodness sakes, that there was absolute no need to sit here alone and mope. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to do the honors of setting the fireworks up for tonight?” 

Arya’s mouth almost dropped open in shock, and she could not help the, “What?” That popped out. 

Catelyn took a step into Arya’s little lair of solitude, her hands twisting in front of her as she frowned down at her daughter, “I know you did not want to be here, and, well I should not have forced you to come. I was just angry at you earlier, as I thought therapy was something that would help you, and then to find out that you had been lying about going?” Catelyn shook her head, Arya tensing herself for the sure to be lecture that followed, but when Cat spoke next her voice was soft, “It did not dawn on me until later how much you and your father loved this holiday.” 

Arya’s shock had no bounds as she heard her mother’s apology, sure that her supposed-to-be impassive face showed this as her eyes practically popped out of her head. This was the first time that Cat had actually apologized to her in a very long time.

Cat was staring at her, clearly waiting for her to speak, so Arya admitted, “It was hard getting out of bed once I realized today’s date.”

Cat’s lips twisted, though she only gave a nod before she said, “Me too.” 

There was a silence between them, though, for the first time since Arya had become a willful teenager, it was a peaceful one as they looked at each other. It was odd, she knew her mother missed her father, but Arya thought this was probably the first time Cat had admitted it to her. For some reason, Arya felt the warmth of connection with her mother swoop through her. 

“So will you do the fireworks? I thought perhaps, since you’ve seen your father do it every year since you were a child you would be the best candidate for setting the fireworks up.” Cat paused again waiting for Arya to speak and when she hesitated, Cat quickly added, “Never mind. I don’t want to force you to anything else today that you do want to do.” She sighed, turning to go, “I’ll just have Robb do it.” 

Arya was up, her hand on her mother’s arm before she had time to really think about it, “No. I’ll do it.” Cat turned back to her, eyebrows raised, and Arya forced herself to nonchalantly get out, “Robb would just end up lighting the house on fire or something.” 

Cat’s eyes softened as she took in her daughter, “Good.” 

Arya waited a second before she added, “Mom?” Cat’s head tilted, and Arya took a deep breath before saying, “Thank you. For…well, you know.” The apology and the opportunity to light some shit on fire, were left unsaid, but Arya thought that was for the best. 

Cat turned back to her, her hand coming up to cover Arya’s, holding it, giving it a squeeze, before she dropped her hand and pulled Arya into a hug. 

She muttered something into Arya’s hair, something that sounded like, “Just what am I going to do with you” but both ignored it as they pulled back. 

Cat smiled at Arya as she pulled back, wiping at her eyes quickly before she slipped back into normal mom mode, “Now do me a favor and make it smaller than usual. I do not want to have to deal with the cops again this year.”

Arya nodded in understanding, though in her mind she was already planning a fireworks show so bright and loud that it was sure to be talked about for years to come. “Sure mom. Whatever you say.” 

Cat eyed her suspiciously, before she shook her head in exasperation, “Just promise me that you won’t light any trees or houses on fire at the very least.” 

Arya let a small mischievous smile play on her face, “Sure mom. Whatever you say.” 

Cat let out a strangled noise as Arya moved past her, back towards the house, but (for both of their sakes) Arya pretended not to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but I just imagine that every now and then Cat and Arya have these moments where they just get each other and everything is going to be okay. And then Arya ruins it by like lighting the neighbors cat on fire or something.... No Jon this chapter, but it just felt necessary for Arya to move past her grief a bit more before she could even open herself up to friendship, let alone something more.


	5. Firework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna texts her son, asking for a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to try and act all cool and pretend this chapter title is not taken from Katy Perry's addicting song of the same name--but that would be a total lie. It's totally inspired by Katy Perry's "Firework," and I have no shame. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is wholeheartedly dedicated to Naysa. After reading your comment on the last chapter, I immediately sat down and wrote this chapter--so I hope it gives you some feels we can gush about at the end of this chapter

_Child of mine, I need a favor_.

 

Jon had been in a stupor of studying, his eyes unfocused as he read the same paragraph on the endocrine system for what was probably the second or third time in about twenty minutes, when his phone had hit him with his mother’s special ringtone. That she had picked herself. Which just happened to be a recording of herself screaming: “TEXTING, I’M TEXTING YOU!”

 

Jon, long used to it (the ringtone for when she actually called was somehow worse), checked his display, an eyebrow rising as he read the message shown on display.

 

He hesitated for a second, flicking a glance back at the stack of MCAT books he had waiting for him, before he slid his finger along the display, typing back, _Yes, mother dear?_

 

He did not even bother to put the phone down or lock it, knowing that she would text back right away.

 

“SON! SON IT IS I! SON! SON! PICK UP YOUR PHONE! I WAS NOT IN LABOR FOR FIFTEEN HOURS SO YOU COULD IGNORE M—”

 

Jon, so stunned that she was calling him actually dropped the vibrating phone onto the floor which had necessitated a few scrambling seconds of reaching for it before he could actually answer the phone and cut off that damn ringtone. It took a second to right himself from the floor, composing himself as he asked, “Mom? Aren’t you working?”

 

“Yeah, hey—sorry to bug you, I know you have the big test next week.”

 

Jon felt a stress headache coming on at that mention, but he pushed it off for his mom, “No, it’s fine. What’s up? Do you need me to bring you something? Did you forget your apron again?”

 

“No, no, no it’s nothing like that. I need you to go rescue your cousin, Arya.”

 

Now that caught his attention. “Arya? Is she okay? Why does she need to be rescued?” His tone came out a bit harsher than intended, but his mother’s word choice had him worried.

 

“Sheesh, calm down child of mine. She’s fine. Well, relatively.” She let out a huff of air, calling something over her shoulder that sounded suspiciously like _it’s called workers rights you dip, I’m on my break now fuck off_ , before she came back to the line, “Sorry about that. What was I saying?”

 

Jon rubbed the space between eyebrows, that stress headache pounding back as he thought about what it would mean if his mother lost yet another waitressing job because she had to yell at her boss. Still he was proud of himself for keeping the frustration out of his voice as he prompted Lyanna, “Arya? She needs my help?”

 

“Oh. Yeah—she’s stuck at her family Fourth of July party, she needs someone to save her.”

 

“Save her?” Once again, the situation did not seem to necessitate his mother’s word choice, but he wanted her to focus on whether or not Arya needed him. 

 

“Yeah, from the tedium and boredom of being forced to go to a Stark family event without her father.”

 

Jon tapped his pencil against the paragraph his brain would not focus on, looking up at the ceiling, “She told you all that?”

 

“Well, not in so many words—but Arya’s a true Stark. It’s always what she is not saying that is the important part. Just like you.” 

 

Jon paused before he answered, searching for the right words before he spoke again, asking a question that was gnawing at him, “She asked for me?”

 

“She asked for you and me to come save her, but I told her I was busy.” His mom sighed into the phone again, “You know I worry about that girl, could you just drive over and say hi, make sure she isn’t just moping, alone in a corner somewhere?”

 

Jon refrained from explaining to his mother that some people preferred to be in corners, alone. “Yeah, sure. I could use the break.” He hesitated another moment before he continued, “Will I be okay heading over there?”

 

His mom blew a raspberry over the phone, “What are they going to do? Kick you out? Arya will stand up for you.”

 

Would she? Jon was not as sure as his mom was.

 

“Okay son. I have to get back to work. Tell Arya I say hi!”

 

*Click*

 

Then she was gone.

 

Jon stared at the phone for a moment after his mom had hung up, his lips downturned as he considered the favor his mother was asking. Truly, the timing could not be worse—the MCAT’s were next week and though he had been studying for them almost nonstop in the year since he had graduated college, it was really crunch time. But still….

 

Arya was the only new family member who had ever really, well, spoken to him. Or looked at him. Or smiled at him. He somehow felt compelled to go see if she actually was okay.

 

Plus, if his mom was asking him to do this she must really be worried. Which in turn worried him.  

 

He stood suddenly, speaking to no one in particular as he said, “Drive over, talk to her for a minute, give mom a status report, then you’re coming back.”

 

He caught his own haggard reflection in the mirror as he turned to go and he stopped, rubbing a hand over his prickly half-beard as he amended his resolution. “Quick shower and shave, _then_ drive over, talk to her for a minute, give mom a status report, _then_ you’re coming back.”

 

He nodded to his own reflection before he set an internal timer, promising himself that this would not take more than an hour. Then it would be back to the endocrine system.

 

Yeah.

 

* * *

Jon’s trepidation about going to the party grew as the sun set, as he drove further away from the two bedroom apartment his mother and him were renting and closer to the palatial mansions on the other side of town. He double-checked the address he had been given by his mother, but his phone gps assured him that he was heading in the right direction.

 

Great.

 

Jon always knew his mother had grown up with money, but it seemed so distant and far away from the motels and apartments that they had lived in all of his life. Luxury for him had been having a room that he could close the door on, but hey, he had never expected much as the only child of a single working mom who bounced from city to city as quickly she bounced from job to job. Seeing the neighborhood Lyanna had actually grown up in was odd, and seeing the house she had called home (passed on from his grandfather to his Uncle Ned) was even odder.

 

But that was not was causing the apprehension. Despite his mom’s notion that Arya would stand up for him being here, Jon was not so sure. He had only met her the three times, and each time he had seen a vastly different side of her from before. He did not blame her, he could not imagine what he would be like when his mother passed, but it did not inspire confidence in him that Arya even would want him to be here.  

 

Plus, what if Brandon or his other uncle, Benjen, tried to kick him out? They had not been forthcoming to his mother (or him for that matter) at the funeral, and though Lyanna had let them both know she was back in their hometown neither had made the move to reach out to her. Passively hostile might be how Jon would describe his gut reaction to how his other family members viewed Lyanna and him. Not that the younger generation was much better. None had been outright rude, but neither had they tried to talk to him at the funeral either.  

 

Jon sighed as he pulled as close as he could to the brick colonial house, though he had to park quite a bit a way away due to all of the other cars parked in front of the Stark home. His stuck his hands in his pockets as he approached the house, the lights and sounds of the party carrying much further than any of the other houses around them, Jon’s eyes flickering every which way. He did not bother with the front door, following through the open gate that led to the wide expanse of the backyard where what was close to a hundred people milled about, chatting in groups, drinking, eating, laughing, splashing in the pool.

 

No one took notice of him, no one eye’s flickered over to him, no one whispered being their hands as he approached—no one seemed to really notice the new person to the party. Jon wondered about that for just a moment, but he figured that the party was big enough that everyone would assume that he was just another guest.

 

Or, Jon realized as he saw all of the empty cases of beer, maybe people were just too into their cups to take notice of anything around them other than more booze.

 

Jon realized that no one was going to kick him out of this party—they would have to recognize him to do that—and there seemed to be no danger of that. Too many people, and the darkening sky helped—plus Jon was in his typical all black. Need be, he could fade into the woods that the backyard opened up to if he thought someone recognized him in a malicious way.

 

He took a moment to take it all in, his eyes scanning the faces of those around him, giving himself a moment to wonder how different his life would have been if his mother had not run away. Would he be used to this kind of wealth? The largeness of the house and grounds? Jon had never had a backyard before. It seemed stupid, but, well—maybe he would have been different?

 

He let out a sigh, before he mentally shook himself, setting himself to the task ahead of him. Right. Find Arya. Tell his mother she was fine. Go home and study.

 

He scanned the party, his eyes taking in everyone around the pool, those going in and out of his house—he recognized some of the faces from the funeral, though names were beyond him. He saw a few of his cousins, but not the one he was looking for.

 

His frown deepened at that, Jon wondering if he was going to have to go search in the house, when he finally saw her.

 

She burst out of the backdoor, her arms laden with packages as she headed through the crowd, past everyone and into the clearing of the backyard before the woods opened up.

 

Jon’s feet moved as quickly as he saw her, following her further away from the joy and revelry of the party, wondering just where in the hell she was going, and what in the hell she was doing.

 

She stopped near the woods, a bunch of packages already at her feet as she dumped the rest on top of them. She turned to go back into the house, her eyes widening as she saw him not twenty feet away from her, “Jon!”

 

Jon stopped where he was for a moment, waiting to see what her reaction would be to seeing him once the shock faded. He waited for any facial movement, knowing a glare would send him right back to his car, while a nod of recognition would have him return his own in kind.

 

But he got neither—instead a smile that lit up her whole face greeted him—and his feet moved of their own accord to be closer to her, to be that much closer to that glowing and welcoming look. He had not had many of those in his lifetime.

 

He took her in as he approached, the smile not fading as he got closer (was it actually growing?). She really was someone completely different when she smiled—he had a feeling she did not smile much, and that thought bothered him. He hoped that one day she would have more to smile about.

 

He stopped again, this time much closer to her, his hands back in his pocket as he looked down at her, “Hi.”

 

She took a step towards him, before she hesitated, the smile fading as she stopped again as she crossed an arm over her chest, rubbing her other arm. “Hey.”

 

Jon willed himself to say something to make her smile again, to find some pithy comment that would perhaps make her laugh, but she beat him to the punch, “What are you doing here?”

 

_She invited me, did she mother?_ A second thought struck him, _How many times is she going to ask me that very question?_ Jon said none of that only admitting, “My mother said you texted her?”

 

Arya shook her head, her hands dropping to her hips as the smile spread on her face again, “Yeah. I told her to bring you over so that you two could rescue me from the tedium and boredom of this party.”

 

Jon said nothing to that, only smirking as he realized that, once again, Lyanna was spot on with the unsaid Stark needs.

 

Arya took another step closer to him, her hand reaching out to brush his shoulder, her hand stopping to give it a squeeze, “I’m glad you came.”

 

Jon glanced quickly at the hand, surprised by the physical gesture from Arya, though he made no comment about it as she quickly dropped her hand. Instead he ignored the warmth that radiated from the touch and looked around her, “It seems like you found your own way to escape the boredom of the party. Are you running off into the woods?”

 

Arya smiled again, shaking her head, as she admitted, “Not today Well, not yet at least.” Arya looked back at the packages, and Jon looked with her as he studied the vivid boxes that promised large explosions and bright colors, looking back to her with understanding.   


“You’re setting up the fireworks?”

 

Arya looked back, nodding with the smile still in place as she gestured to all of the boxes, “My mom put me in charge. It is…well, it was, my dad’s job each year, and since he’s not here she asked me.” Arya let out a tiny chuckle, shaking her head as she admitted to him, “Poor woman tried to get me to promise that it would just be a small display.”

 

Jon once again glanced around her at the large pile of fireworks behind her, his eyebrow quirking up in amusement. “I take it we’re not going to follow through on that promise?”

 

Arya laughed at that, the sound rusty, wheezy, as if Arya had not laughed in a very long time. Jon frowned at that, but Arya was still smiling, “Damn right. I want it so bright and loud that people two towns over can feel it.” She paused before she pointed out, “Did you say we’re?”

 

Jon nodded slowly, knowing that it had just popped out, and that he had a pile of books to still study through. The endocrine, skeletal, respiratory and cardiovascular system were not going to learn themselves. Still…that brilliant smile of hers was still in place, and Jon felt his own face softening with a smile, answering hers in kind. “I figure if you’re going to make it quite large you might need some assistance.” He paused before he asked, “Do you want some help, Arya?”  

 

Arya contemplated his offer for a moment before she gave a slow nod, “Yeah, that would actually be great. Have you ever set off fireworks before?”

 

“No, but I am a very able assistant. Fast learner, and willing to be bossed around.”

 

Arya chuckled again, before she turned back to the packages, her face set in a more serious, determined way. She looked back at him, pointing out some round ones near the back of the pile, “Okay, those are our grand finale. So we want to make sure to set those off last….”

 

Jon lost an hour to helping his cousin set up the fireworks, but he did not notice as she commanded him and told him just which way to face the openings so that they would not hit the trees or the houses closest to them. They talked, but mostly they just worked in silence as they set up, and then re-set up the fireworks. Jon did not question as Arya kept changing the configuration and order the fireworks—she seemed to be like a woman possessed, and it seemed to Jon as if this was about more than just fireworks.

 

After he turned the original finale fireworks, back to the last of the configuration so that that they would, once again, be the finale fireworks Arya gave a satisfied nod. “Okay, it’s time.”

 

Jon stood, following her as she led him to what she deemed a safe distance from the hail of sparks, “Right. Do you want me to go warn the others we are starting?”

 

Arya shook her head, a mischievous look in her eyes as she admitted, “They’ll know. Trust me. Now pass me a sparkler and a lighter. It’s show time.” 

 

He handed her the asked for sparkler, lighting it, and she smiled at him as she swirled the sparkler in front of her for a moment. He could see her eyes grow distant as she took in the sparks, but he said nothing, just watching her.

 

She paused, before holding the sparkler out to him, that faraway look still in her eyes. “Do you want to light them off? You’ve been really helpful, and you really are great at being bossed around.”

 

Jon considered it, before he shook his head, “No, you do it. This is your show. I’m just the assistant.”

 

Arya gave him another one of her small smiles, before the look in her eyes grew roguish as she turned back to where the fuses lay, setting the first one off with a set jaw.

 

Jon stared as the first one shot into the air, the light exploding high up, a few seconds before the clap of the boom reaching him. There was a gasp from the crowd at the house, then silence. A few seconds after that, another, then another, then another went up—and Jon was lost in the show.

 

Arya stood by the fuses, timing them just perfectly, waiting a few second between each explosion to light the next one, the awe of the crowd obvious—even from their far distance. The night sky came to life, a shower of different colored sparks and loud booms, the whole neighborhood as bright as day under the hail of all of the fireworks.

 

Arya finally lit the last of the fuses, the longest one, giving her ample time to step back to where Jon waited, to watch the last of them go off together. When she stood next to him, Jon finally flicked a glance to her, a frown marring his face as he saw the tears dropping from her eyes. He went to say something, but he stopped when he dropped his eyes and saw the smile on her face, the pure joy mingling with the tears as she watched the show.  

 

Without much thought, Jon wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her next to him and tucking her to his side. She did not protest, fitting under the crook of his arm as she wrapped her own arm around his waist. There was silence between them as they took in the radiant blasts, before Arya quietly admitted, “My dad would have loved this.”

 

Jon said nothing to that—there was nothing to say. The tears began to make more sense, especially if this was something Arya did every year with her dad. But these were not the same tears from the funeral. These were different, and they expressed something different than just grief. Something else, something more—something he could not put words too.

 

So he did not, instead smiling down at her as the last of the fireworks went off, giving her a squeeze around her shoulders, tugging their already close forms even closer.

 

The pair grew silent as they watched the last of the fireworks, the sky ablaze with the finale, the clap of booms that came from their explosions in stark contrast with the deafening silence that followed. But the silence only lasted a second before the cheers of the crowd who had gathered to watch started to clap, their shouts and claps bolstered by the dazzling show and the booze they had been imbibing all day.

 

Arya looked back up at him as the cheers continued, that smile of hers more glowing than any of the fireworks they had just set off, her eyes twinkling as she thanked him with her eyes.  

 

Hours later, as Jon lay back in his own bed, his hands tucked behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, he realized that twenty years from now, if anyone ever asked him what he remembered from his first Stark family fireworks display—it would not be the fireworks.

 

It would be that luminous smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Lyanna's relationship is one I'm actually excited to explore. Lyanna is a bit of a mystery, and her personality seems to bounce from story to story I've read her in--but for this story/situation, it seems totally plausible to me that she would be this amazingly big goofball who means well, and loves her son fiercely but is maybe not the most reliable. And of course Jon is a total nerd who is studying to be a doctor. Yeah.
> 
> Also--I couldn't help it this chapter. Jon was necessary, and Jon and Arya being all buddy, buddy was also necessary. Yes/yes?


	6. We Are Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Mulan, because I friggin love that song and it popped up on my iPod when I was writing this chapter.

The door to the familiar fencing academy, aptly titled _Water Dancing_ , swung open, Arya feeling as if it were just yesterday she had last pressed against the recognizable weight of the door to enter what had once been her sanctuary, not the near five months it had actually been. As she took a second to stand in the doorway she thought back to the last time she had been here, the last time she had tried to strap on her gear to practice, right after her father’s accident—and she fought the rising panic and embarrassment as she thought about how well that situation had turned out for her.

 

Now, well…it was a different time. Arya was a different person. Simple as that.

 

Arya took a reassuring deep breath, trying to find her center as she walked into the practice room she had logged countless hours in since she had turned eight years old. There was a pack of students practicing against each other, the only sounds in the room those of their practice rapier’s clacking against each other over and over as they parried and thrust and, oh, Arya got a very strong desire to grab a practice rapier from the wall and join them. But no, not today—she needed to meet Lyanna before Jon finished his tests today if they were to surprise him as planned. Plus, she did not think it would be appreciated if she just tried to act like nothing had happened the last time she had been here and resume the ranks of those fighting as if she were not the girl who had yelled at her master to his face the last time she had seen him. 

 

So Arya turned away from the practicing fighters, her eyes scanning the crowd of people watching the fighters. She was not here to practice, rather she was here to see if there was even a snowball’s chance in hell of her being able to return as a pupil. 

 

She needed to speak to the masters to be able to do that—one very special master in particular, Master Syrio Forel, the man who had trained her since she had begun her career in fencing. Her eyes continued their scan, lighting on one of the other masters, Jaqen, or as Arya was always told to call him, Master H’qhar. He was not moving as he watched those sparring in front of him, only barking out advice every now and then, but even so he radiated with energy—Arya had always been reminded of a cat when she saw him. A deadly, lethal cat, but a cat all the same. He always had a devil may care smirk on his face—the same smirk he wore whenever he fenced in competitions, fighting his way through competitor after competitor. 

 

Arya frowned as she watched him for a moment before dismissing the thought of speaking to him. Master H’qhar might be an excellent fighter—but he was not her master, and while Arya respected him, it was nowhere near the respect she held for Master Forel. 

 

So Arya took another step into the practice room, being careful to stay to the sides of all the sparring as she moved around the room, hugging the wall as she searched for her master in the crowd of spectators. No such luck. Perhaps he had taken the day off?

 

“Stark—I did not expect ever to see you again after our last conversation.”

 

How like Master Forel—he came from the shadows, behind her. She must be off of her game if he had been able to catch her as off guard as he had.

 

Still, she kept the disappointment off of her face as she turned to face him. “Master Forel.”

 

He crossed his arms, everything about him signifying grace—though he was not like Jaqen. He did not exude strength and because of that many had mistaken his easy going stature for him being the nicer of the two masters, the less skilled one. Fools would often find that they were wrong on both counts. “Have you come to hurl some more insults at me Stark?”

 

Arya shook her head, forcing her gaze down in a respectful manner as she admitted, “I have come to apologize, Master Forel.” She waited a beat before she added, “And to ask for a spot back on the fencing team.”

 

Forel inclined his head to her, coming into the light to observe her, light shining off of his bare head as he took her in. “You have not been practicing.”

 

Arya shook her head, though she said nothing. What could she say? Practicing had been the last thing on her mind, and it was only a day ago that she had felt the desire to fence come over her again. She said none of this though, only keeping her eyes demurely down.

 

He continued his observation of her as he slowly walked around her, “You will have to be set back in your training. I do not think you are at the level you were four months ago.”

 

Arya nodded in agreement, forcing herself to keep still as he finished his circle of her, “Yes Master Forel.”

 

“We will start you with an opponent who you have a chance with, I do not think you are ready to fight the masters yet.”

 

A sigh of relief escaped her lips before she could stop it. Forel was talking about her fighting and training here again. It was more than Arya had hoped in coming here today.

 

When she had left here last time, Arya had been in a bridge-burning mood and had told Master Forel to fuck off to his face when he commented on her dejected mood—she did not expect the courteous greeting she was receiving. In fact, well, knowing Master Forel and H’qhan, she was expecting punishment.

 

Forel seemed to be reading her thoughts as he continued, “You will be teaching the elementary school class that meets on Saturday’s at 8:00am for the rest of the summer. Perhaps after that, if you prove your commitment and willingness to be back here, I will let you take back up your tutelage under me.”

 

8:00 am?! All summer?! THE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL CLASS?! Oh there was nothing worse than a bunch of 6-10 year old snot nosed kids whacking each other with the practice swords as their parents filled up the sidelines with their phones at the ready, snapping pictures of every little thing their ‘angels’ did. It was not necessarily the kids that Arya dreaded, but rather the parents. They always seemed to be full of opinions that they thought needed to be shared with whoever was leading the class, trying to seem like they knew tons about fencing when it was quite obvious everything they were saying was from the first page of googling the words ‘fencing for your kids.’

 

Arya kept her thoughts to herself as she only agreed with him, “Yes, Master Forel.”

 

Forel turned then, observing the students who were still practicing on the floor as he stood next to her. Arya finally raised her eyes to him, seeing that he was resolutely looking forward. His glance flickered to hers for a second as a rare smile lit his face as he nodded to her. Arya gave him a nod back, and he looked away, dismissing her with a simple, “I will see you then.”

 

 Arya only gave a bow he could not see. “Thank you Master Forel.”

 

“It is good to have you back Stark. I feared we would not see you again.” He paused before admitting, “You have been missed.”

 

Arya’s smile was swift and real, and she had to stop herself from doing something uncharacteristic such as hug him or start crying. Instead she only admitted, “I am glad to be back, Master Forel.”

 

She turned to walk away, making it to the door before he spoke again, “Stark, I hope you do not take it too personally that I did not take your advice the last time we met.”

 

Arya stopped, confused, her brow furrowing as she tried to think back to what she had said to him the last time she had seen him. “Advice?”

 

Master Forel smiled in earnest then as he admitted, “I have no intention of fucking off Miss Stark, especially not when it comes to someone as talented as you.”

 

“Eep.”

 

It was all Arya could muster.

 

Forel chuckled then, leaving her standing her frozen in the doorway like a doe caught in the crossbeams of an eighteen-wheeler, Arya’s ears and face burning red as he walked away. Arya wished very much, right then and there, that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forel is still alive in the books. I don't care what GRRM wants us to believe--FOREL LIVES! Ahem...sorry....
> 
> As always, thank you to all of the amazing people who left a review on the last chapter--this fic was not forgotten or abandoned, life just got in the way. Consider this chapter an appetizer to what should be a more filling main course for the next chapter. 
> 
> (In other words, Jon will definitely be in the next chapter...)


	7. GDFR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finishes the MCATs, and wants to do nothing more than go home and sleep. Arya and Lyanna have different plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic title taken from Flo Rida's song of the same name.

Jon’s vision (and brain) swam as he left the testing site, his head the perfect blank it could only be after having taken an almost eight hour standardized test. The questions did not swim in front of him as he agonized over the answers he should have picked, but rather a complete dead air like blank buzzed through his brain as he shuffled his way out of the center ready to do nothing for the rest of his day. It was only three thirty in the afternoon, but all Jon wanted to do was crawl into his bed and sleep for about twelve hours. Or better yet, find a sense deprivation tank and crawl into it for about two days, cut off from the rest of the world—no sights, no sounds.

And definitely no thoughts about how he had done on the test he had just taken.

The walk to his car and the drive home blended together in his mind, Jon’s thoughts elsewhere as he drove, wondering if he wanted some greasy food more than he wanted sleep at that moment but deciding against it as he realized the time. It was nearing four, and while his mom did not get off until seven tonight, he wanted to enjoy having some time alone before his mother came home peppering him with questions about the test and how he thought he did.

As if hearing his thoughts, his mother’s special ring tone sounded as his phone powered up after being off for most of the day, four new text messages from her. He scrolled through them at a red light, the first two obviously from before the test (Good luck!, I believe in you!) one from about halfway through the test (Hope it is going okay!), and the dreaded last one (Is it finished? How did it go????)

In all honesty, even after months of preparing, Jon had no clue how he did. He thought he did okay on the first three sections, as he had studied biology, chemistry and behavioral sciences as much as he could, but that last section, critical analysis and reasoning—it was anyone’s game. He could barely remember what had actually been on the test let alone how he had thought to answer the questions, so really talking about the test would do nothing but increase his chances of having a panic attack as he waited the month it would take to get his scores. So rather than type back an answer he threw his phone into the seat next to him, and turned the radio up, trying to drown out his thoughts with classic rock.

Jon pulled up to the covered spot that was in front of the apartment he would be sharing with his mom until he left for med school, taking a second to breathe in the stuffy hot air of the car, just then realizing he had been so out of it he had not even bothered to turn on the air conditioning in the car as he had entered it. He let the heat envelop him, knowing the apartment would be cool when he entered it (if there was one thing he his mother was willing to spend more for it was the high electricity bills that came from running the air conditioner full blast all summer), instead taking a second before he took a deep breath and opened the door, sighing as he walked up to their second story two bedroom. It took him a second to fish for his keys and he paused for a moment, before unlocking and pressing the front door open, dreaming of solitude and sleep already.

“SURPRISE!”

The loud proclamation had Jon freezing in the doorway even as a handful of confetti was thrown over him, accompanied by the sounds of an air horn and a few of the cheap party clackers and kazoos ringing through the tiny apartment and cutting through the blissful buzz between his ears. Jon, after closing his eyes to avoid getting any of the confetti in them, opened them slowly, his initial shock melting away as he took in his mother and Arya standing there, both of them wearing party hats, lei’s, and standing underneath a bright banner that read “Congratulations Dr. Stark!” Both women were grinning at him like crazy, and holding another sign between them that simply said, “YOU DID IT!”

Jon, who had just been so desperately craving solitude just seconds before, felt the desire melt away, a smile growing on his face as he took in his small but very welcome surprise party. The two women in front of him looked at him expectantly, both still smiling, Arya still holding a kazoo in her mouth. Jon said the only thing he could think of at that moment, “Uhm, wow.”

His mom dropped her half of the sign and walked over to him, grabbing him into a hug, shaking loose some of the confetti that had settled on his shoulders as she gushed, “Oh you finally did it. My son is going to be a doctor!”

Jon’s cheeks grew red, his eyes flashing over to Arya as he sheepishly admitted, “Not yet mom, I still have to see how I did on the test, then apply for some schools, hope I get in, pass—.”

“Oh shush!” His mom drew back from him, looking him in the eyes as she held on to his hands, “Honey, you’ve just finished taking the test you’ve been studying for for over a year. None of that other stuff matters tonight! It is time to celebrate! No more worrying—you can worry about the other stuff tomorrow. No more speak of it tonight, okay?”

Jon bit his lip, but nodded in agreement, the bright smile back on his mom’s face as she pulled him in for another hug, “Oh I am so proud of you, Jon!” She pulled back again, laughing as she fished in her pocket for more confetti before throwing it over him again.

Jon was not quick as he was the last time, and coughed as some of the glittery scraps made their way towards his lungs. He just laughed though as his mom pounded his back, panic on her face as he assured her that he was okay as he flashed her two big thumbs up.

Lyanna finally stepped away from him when he stopped coughing, the smile back on her face already as she explained, “We made all of your favorite foods, and we have some champagne chilling in the fridge to celebrate.” Lyanna shook her head as she laughed, “I wanted to surprise you at the testing center with signs and food, but Arya thought you would prefer it if we just celebrated here.”

Jon shot Arya a panicked look over his mom’s shoulder, mouthing thank you. Arya eyes twinkled as she mimed tilting her hat to him, understanding in her eyes. Lyanna saw none of it as she clapped her hands, rushing from the room, “Now it is time for some champagne!”

Arya finally approached him as Lyanna scurried from the room, coming towards him with a lei and a party hat, that twinkle still in her eyes. “Congratulations Jon. May I?”

Jon nodded, and Arya reached over him, having to stand on her tiptoes to drop the lei over his head. She moved a step closer, Jon’s breath hitching for a second as she reached over his head again to snap on the party hat. She stayed millimeters away from him as she adjusted the hat for a second, her tongue sticking out through her teeth. Jon’s eyes focused on that sliver of pink showing through her white teeth, before he guiltily dragged his eyes back up to her, glad to see she was completely focused on moving the hat. She finally smiled before she gave a satisfactory nod as it sat at the same perfectly askew angle hers did, stepping back. “Perfect, you look like you’re ready to party now.”

Jon chuckled, and Arya beamed at him, Jon taking the opportunity of being so close to her to really take her in. He had not seen her since the fourth of July, and he was glad to see that she looked happier, brighter—more alive than he had ever seen her before. He was about to ask her how she was doing, but Arya smiled at him, speaking before he could “I hope you do not mind, but this little surprise party was my idea.”

That surprised him almost as much as the party itself did, this whole thing had Lyanna written all over it. Arya saw the look on his face, and admitted, “Well not my idea, but my doing. I asked your mom what we could do to congratulate you for finishing the test, and to you know…say thank you for everything from the fourth,” Arya rushed on before he could acknowledge that, “And she went off on all these crazy ideas of how we could surprise you. I talked her down to just a celebratory dinner.”

Jon’s smile was earnest as he admitted, “Thank you. The rest of it would have been….”

“…Embarrassing?”

Jon nodded, pausing a beat before admitting, “This is the first surprise party I’ve ever had.”

Arya’s eyes opened wide in astonishment, “Really? They were par for the course at our house. Mom would do them to at least one of us every year. So kind of the opposite of a surpri—you know what? Not important. I just hope you enjoy this one.”

Lyanna burst back into the room before Jon could reply, an open champagne bottle and three glasses in her hands claiming their attentions. She passed one to each of them and Jon frowned as he watched his mom fill Arya’s cup to the brim with the bubbly drink, “Uhm….should we be giving the minor that much to drink?”

Jon felt the full force of two Stark women’s glares at the comment, and he dropped his gaze as he murmured, “Never mind.”

Lyanna filled her own glass last, then raised it to her son, “To my baby boy. Congratulations honey, you have the whole world open to you.”

The three of them clinked glasses, Jon somewhat alarmed as the two women across from him downed their glasses, both of them already refilled as he only took a sip of his.

_Oh boy. This should be an interesting night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this sounds really big headed but I really like the line 'Jon felt the full force of two Stark women’s glares.' Like I feel like one is enough to make any sane person shut up, but two would be like 'oh shit son.' 
> 
> Anyways, thank you as usual for all of the kudos and reviews. This story is for you guys, and I keep tapping away because of your love and support. Until next time xx

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote for these two, but I got sucked back into ASOIAF fic's, and suddenly I am filled with ideas for these crazy kids. I hope to make this multi-chapter fic, but don't really have a plan. So you know, if you have any ideas or suggestions, always feel free to share them in the comments. Who knows what it might spark off? 
> 
> Also I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP. *Ahem* Sorry (butnotsorry).


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